Fic: Mental Processes, by Scarlet_Gryphon (Drunken/Alcohol Challenge)
Title: Mental Processes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~370
Warnings: Language, I guess.
Notes: Set in my "Rodney-as-a-Tok'ra" 'Verse. (I really need to think of a better name for that.) Um, any time after "Runner", I guess.
Summary: Rodney wakes up to a bright, sun-shiney day, and then immediately wishes he hadn't.
Wake up.
Blink. Groan. Ow. That seemed to cover all of it, really.
‘Should my brain hurt this much?’
Yes, yes it should. It’s all your fault, really.
Someone sniggered nearby.
‘I thought you couldn’t get drunk, Rodney.’
Frown. What?
Don’t look at me. I’m not the one who drank all that wine last night.
‘I usually don’t, but apparently Syresh thinks that I need to learn a lesson today. Oh God, can someone please turn down the sun?’
Unfortunately, that option is unavailable. Sor-ry.
Goddamn chirpy, sing-song Tok’ra. Another snigger. Damn, what the hell had he drunk last night? And how much of it?
‘I did not think that the wine the Rianashi gave us was that strong.’
Logic. Something he usually associated with himself. Somehow, though, logic had been overruled during the last twelve hours. To excess, it seemed. Damn.
‘Yeah, but Mister “I-can-drink-more-than-you-can-and-not-get-sick” over here managed to get into a drinking contest with Welan. You know, that big, beefy guy who looks like he could probably drink Ronon under the table?’
A memory swam up, prodded along by the waves of smugness Syresh was giving off. It shouldn’t be possible for a faceless being to smirk, logically, but seeing as how logic was off on holiday, she did so, and with great satisfaction. The image of a hulking man downing a giant mug of mulled wine focused itself at the forefront of his brain. Oh, hell.
‘Didn’t expect you could last that long, McKay.’
Yet another snigger from Syresh, making him toss an annoyed mental scowl at her. She replied with the mental equivalent of a raspberry and smirked again.
‘Oh, thank you very much, Conan. How long do we have to stay here for?’
‘The mayor said we are welcome to leave at any time. He also said that should you like to return, we have to send ahead with a note. Three weeks in advance.’
‘Oh, God.’
Pause.
Well, that has to be -
‘Shut up.’
‘What?’
I’m just saying…
‘Not you. Syresh. She’s laughing at me.’
‘Serves you right.’
Sigh.
‘Let’s just go home.’
Pause again while something that had been bothering his subconscious started banging on the door of his conscious mind.
‘Where the hell are my pants?’
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~370
Warnings: Language, I guess.
Notes: Set in my "Rodney-as-a-Tok'ra" 'Verse. (I really need to think of a better name for that.) Um, any time after "Runner", I guess.
Summary: Rodney wakes up to a bright, sun-shiney day, and then immediately wishes he hadn't.
Wake up.
Blink. Groan. Ow. That seemed to cover all of it, really.
‘Should my brain hurt this much?’
Yes, yes it should. It’s all your fault, really.
Someone sniggered nearby.
‘I thought you couldn’t get drunk, Rodney.’
Frown. What?
Don’t look at me. I’m not the one who drank all that wine last night.
‘I usually don’t, but apparently Syresh thinks that I need to learn a lesson today. Oh God, can someone please turn down the sun?’
Unfortunately, that option is unavailable. Sor-ry.
Goddamn chirpy, sing-song Tok’ra. Another snigger. Damn, what the hell had he drunk last night? And how much of it?
‘I did not think that the wine the Rianashi gave us was that strong.’
Logic. Something he usually associated with himself. Somehow, though, logic had been overruled during the last twelve hours. To excess, it seemed. Damn.
‘Yeah, but Mister “I-can-drink-more-than-you-can-and-not-get-sick” over here managed to get into a drinking contest with Welan. You know, that big, beefy guy who looks like he could probably drink Ronon under the table?’
A memory swam up, prodded along by the waves of smugness Syresh was giving off. It shouldn’t be possible for a faceless being to smirk, logically, but seeing as how logic was off on holiday, she did so, and with great satisfaction. The image of a hulking man downing a giant mug of mulled wine focused itself at the forefront of his brain. Oh, hell.
‘Didn’t expect you could last that long, McKay.’
Yet another snigger from Syresh, making him toss an annoyed mental scowl at her. She replied with the mental equivalent of a raspberry and smirked again.
‘Oh, thank you very much, Conan. How long do we have to stay here for?’
‘The mayor said we are welcome to leave at any time. He also said that should you like to return, we have to send ahead with a note. Three weeks in advance.’
‘Oh, God.’
Pause.
Well, that has to be -
‘Shut up.’
‘What?’
I’m just saying…
‘Not you. Syresh. She’s laughing at me.’
‘Serves you right.’
Sigh.
‘Let’s just go home.’
Pause again while something that had been bothering his subconscious started banging on the door of his conscious mind.
‘Where the hell are my pants?’